


This Is Just to Say

by WhisperNorbury



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Gen, Non-explicit torture mostly though., Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-12
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperNorbury/pseuds/WhisperNorbury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little something is left for Peter in his apartment.  He does not appreciate the sentiment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: This Is Just to Say  
>  Author: wouldbeashame  
>  Rating: R for violence, just to be safe  
>  Characters: Peter, Sylar  
>  Summary: A little something is left for Peter in his apartment.He does not appreciate the sentiment.  
>  Warnings: AU after the Season 3 finale, spoilers up until then.Shameless butchering of William Carlos William's poetry.

**  
**********  


Peter came home to his empty apartment for the first time in at least twenty hours. The double and triple shifts he pulled should be wearing him down, but he just felt a deadening of the restlessness he's been trying to live with.Not to mention how much healing the worst injured with Jeremy’s ability wiped him out.It was nice to be able to sleep, at least for the few short hours that exhaustion claimed as her dues for pushing himself this hard.

He tossed his bag on the kitchen floor, and grabbed a cup. He thought that he really should get some groceries soon, seeing as his only drink options were water or that three month old bottle of lemon juice.At least he had remembered to put a tray of water in the freezer for ice cubes this time.The tap ran just warm enough to be unpleasant, even on the coldest setting.

After filling his glass, he didn’t resist the pull of wandering over to his wall.Just a quick look, he promised himself, then he'd get a bit of sleep.Just a quick reminder of the good he did, difference he made.A reinforcement that he had actually gotten it right in the first place, trying to save the world one person, one accident, at a time.

The clippings still hung on his wall where he had left them the evening before.It didn’t matter how silly it seemed; he wondered every time he came in if they’d still be there.Without his proof, his black-and-white silent testimony, he felt like he’d have nothing.

But there was something, a difference.The clipping there, left of center and immediately in front of where he was standing, he didn't remember putting that one up.Not that he was sure he could even trust his own memory anymore, but he was almost positive he wouldn't have clipped something from the personal ads for his wall.And he certainly wouldn’t have tacked it up clean in the middle of another article, covering all the important points.

Taking it down was only natural, it didn't belong there.Maybe he had put up the back of an article out of tired bleariness.Maybe his hand had drooped from the intended placement as he strained to put up one more article before collapsing into sleep’s clutches.But when flipped over, the back was just a chuck of an advertisement for a grocery store.Maybe he'd stop in to that one, fresh plums were on sale.

Heading for the garbage and running through his mental catalogue of work for the past few weeks, wondering what article must have gotten accidentally thrown away if he had put up this instead, he finally indulged the curiosity of reading what was on the paper.Apparently someone felt like wasting their money on publishing poems in the personal ads section.The paper read:

This is Just to Say

I have killed  
the brother  
that was in  
your heart

and which  
you were probably  
trying to save  
from himself

Forgive me  
his brain was delicious  
flying so sweet  
and so bold

"Too soon?You know, you've gotten rather careless, Pete."

He looked up to see Sylar emerging from his dining room.It didn’t matter that what he claimed was impossible, didn’t matter that he had spoken to Nathan just this morning; Peter knew irrevocably that it was true.

Peter processed Sylar’s words, and heard the crash of glass followed by the splattering of water and clink of ice, then heard and felt nothing as he exploded into a white-hot ball of violence.

He came back to himself miraculously still alive and standing over a prone form on the ground.Sylar, his mind said.Memories of the preceding minutes vied for his attention, painting clearly for him how the twisted psychopath had come back from the dead to taunt him about killing Nathan.Not enough to deprive him of his brother, Sylar had to go for the personal touch.

That screaming was getting annoying; Peter wondered when it was going to stop.Where the hell was it coming from anyway?

Sylar.That couldn't be right.Sylar on the ground in front of him, not quite as still has he had thought, but rather tightened and folded into an apparition of pain. And still screaming with abandon Peter had never thought to hear from anyone, much less Sylar. 

How?Peter knew Sylar wouldn't, couldn't, fake this affront to his pride, this weakness.Peter was disgusted by just how much he knew about Sylar.But as far as Peter knew Sylar still had all his powers, his stolen abilities, including Claire's.Why wasn't the screaming stopping?Why wasn't he healing up and walking away or murdering Peter for the humiliation he had witnessed?All Peter had was the one ability, taken from that teen in the backwater town during his ultimately futile haste to save Hiro.Healing shouldn't cause this screaming.

But it wasn't just healing, was it?It was more complex, faceted.Trying to calm himself, Peter could now feel the easy strain of an activated and maintained ability.He was the one crippling Sylar.He had the man at his mercy, whatever pieces of that Sylar and the world had not yet managed to shatter and grind to dust.

To be honest, instead of the drain usually inflicted upon him when using this power, Peter felt invigorated.He felt like all the sleep he hadn’t been getting had just been forgiven in one fell swoop, and then some.With a sudden flashback to Noah’s words about the other person he had known who had been able to manipulate life force, he realized that healing people was giving away his own life, his own energy.This, this pain he was inflicting, the death he had probably already inflicted upon Sylar at least once in his rage took back that energy.

He pondered for a moment if he could get death to stick permanently, tissue regeneration seemed to do nothing against the pain he was still driving into Sylar with unexpected vindictiveness.

But, a treacherous voice in his mind whispered, why would he want to kill Sylar?He felt ready and able to heal an entire busload of victims just from this short experiment with the negative side of this gift.Here before him was the one man he could take endlessly from, and never feel guilty.It would really be considered a fairly light penance for all the sins Sylar had accumulated.

Why not just keep him here to use like this?He’d be stopping Sylar from taking any more victims while increasing the amount of people he could save exponentially.Any faint tremors of moral outrage at the notion faded quickly, if not at the thought of the good he could do, then in the face of what Sylar had done to his brother.Peter found it startlingly easy to accept the idea of keeping a live person as a recharger.

But first, he had to silence Sylar.He knelt by Sylar’s head, running a gentle, experienced hand down Sylar’s throat until it hovered directly above Sylar’s larynx.A simple touch and reach with his power killed that entire section of Sylar’s throat, without hindering his breathing.It wouldn’t do to have Sylar die now.

In the raw silence that followed Peter regarded Sylar with a curiosity he rarely felt.Already his mind was reducing the twisted form before him from ‘human’ to ‘thing’.Sylar’s panicked eyes tried to track him as he stood back up, but quickly squeezed shut as a new influx of pain was heralded in by Peter picking him up to move him into his nearly empty closet.

A quick rejuvenating touch to Sylar’s head before closing the door sent a rush of endorphins through his system before the pain slammed back down on him, ensuring that he would not quickly become resistant to the high level of pain he was currently subjected to.

Peter stood in his bedroom wondering what he should do now.He felt like life should be somehow immediately different now that he had a pain-wracked serial killer stashed in his closet as a power source.Too many thoughts assaulted him at once, so he reverted to his original plan for the evening, flicking off his closet light, and going to bed.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   As weeks pass Peter observes changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Changes  
> Author: wouldbeashame  
> Rating: R for creepy evilness, just to be safe  
> Characters: Peter, Sylar  
> Summary: As weeks pass Peter observes changes.  
> Warnings: Sequel to This Is Just to Say, AU after the Season 3 finale, spoilers up until then. General creepy evilness.  
> AN: Feels a bit too short kind of rushed to me, but it grew out of another section of this fic that will be soon forthcoming. It didn't belong in that one, but I didn't want to ditch it altogether, so I expanded it a bit, and here it is.

It had taken a week before Sylar had mustered up enough coherence for threats. Sad and twisted fragments promising pain and repeated death under every permutation of stolen powers he could conceive. All Peter could do was smile and close the closet doors when Sylar was in that sort of mood.

Sometime during that following weekend, something must have slipped in Sylar, some gear or cog crunching out of alignment. Somewhere in the moment of shift from pleasure to pain that Peter was becoming so adept at the words tumbling from shaking lips became desperate pleas rather than harsh demands. Begging Peter, god, anyone, to stop, to save him, to help, to do something. It actually pulled a small laugh of surprise out of Peter.

Even that endearing phase ended rather quickly, desperation tinting more and more of the words that Sylar couldn’t seem to keep inside his head.

“I can fix you,” Sylar had offered at the end of one such rush of words, followed by a shuddering gasp, as if even after all this he couldn’t believe the words had escaped his mouth. Peter could see the last-ditch effort in his eyes. This was the final cliff to drive him off. 

He toyed with the thought for a moment. He had no doubt that Sylar could fix his limited ability back to full, and probably even without killing him. But did he really need that, or even want it? He had enough power to save as many lives as he could manage to touch in a day, had the power to protect himself and his friends from people wanting to harm them. Didn’t have to worry about going nuclear or losing control of any one of dozens of deadly powers he had contained.

“I don’t need fixing, I just need you,” Peter answered.

The fires of desperation flared and guttered out in Sylar’s eyes within instants of him speaking. The near-permanent lines of tension across his body from pain did not fade, but something in Sylar loosened, gave in.

After that, Sylar remained quiet all on his own.


	3. Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   Life was, all in all, fairly good for Peter right now, minor annoyances aside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Lives  
> Author: wouldbeashame  
> Rating: R for creepy evilness, just to be safe  
> Characters: Peter, Sylar  
> Summary: Life was, all in all, fairly good for Peter right now, minor annoyances aside.  
> Warnings: Sequel to [This Is Just to Say](http://wouldbeashame.livejournal.com/342.html) and [Changes](http://wouldbeashame.livejournal.com/710.html), AU after the Season 3 finale, spoilers up until then.General creepy evilness, torturey stuff.  
> AN:  Well, I didn't expect this to be coming nearly so soon, or at all for that matter, but here it is.  I lay credit squarely at the feet of the people who responded so nicely to my first fic and encouraged me to continue it. 
> 
>  
> 
> Concrit always welcomed with open arms.

 

 

Peter hated wearing suits, even more now that they were a reminder of what- who- he had lost.But the hospital was holding its third ball this year for generous donators whose loved ones had been thought beyond repair who went on to miraculously make full recoveries, and it was only April.His was the only hospital in the area, and possibly the state, that didn’t have to make budget cuts or layoffs in this economy, what with all the happy benefactors and the goodwill of the community so firmly behind it.

Honestly, it seemed like the only deaths that happened at the hospital nowadays were the elderly dying of natural causes.And doctors had more time for those patients, what with the ER becoming less of a drain of resources. After the third month straight, no one was surprised anymore to have more ambulance fatalities than ER and cutting-table deaths combined.Everyone knew, once you got to the hospital, you were safe, in good hands.

Everyone in the hospital also knew that you wanted to be on shift when Peter Petrelli was on shift, not that anyone would ever say as much aloud.Things just didn’t go wrong when he was around.Doctors didn’t make fatal mistakes in surgery, relatives and loved ones calmed with barely a soothing word and a brief touch, and failing patients suddenly weren’t as serious as they had been the night before, or even the shift before.

As the hospital’s most charming face, or so everyone else had apparently voted him, he had been chosen to give a speech, which meant no low-grade threads and no skulking around to sneak off early.But all he had to do was meet-and-greet with his few, superficial hospital friends, which only covered about 98 percent of the staff, then read off a few lines he had memorized the instant he saw them committed to paper.He could handle the smiling and cheerfulness and normalcy for a while longer.

“You look good Peter.It’s like you haven’t got a care in the world.You had us worried there for a bit.We should have known you’d pull through like you always do, dragging everyone else up too.”

“What can I say, I’m a fighter.”

A polite cascade of laughter and smiles, then he was twisting away to the next group looking to comment on his wondrous shift of disposition.

Life was, all in all, fairly good for Peter right now.

Pretty much the only thing he regretted about his new arrangement was that he couldn’t take constant twenty-four hour shifts without the chance of arousing more significant suspicion in his co-workers.He knew he was pushing the boundaries of normal and acceptable and humanly feasible already, but as long as he didn’t step too far over that line, they allowed themselves to forget, pretend they didn’t know how many shifts he took.Pretend they didn’t notice the way he would bring color into a patient’s skin with just a touch couldn’t possibly be a trick of the lighting under the cold, harsh ER florescents.He was just doing what they all tried to do, all day and night long.Saving lives.

That and the faint annoyance that whenever Sylar couldn’t take the pain anymore he had taken to retreating behind Nathan’s face and mind.It amused Peter to think that Sylar thought that would help somehow, maybe even get him released.Beyond a momentary pause of surprise, Peter had learned how to take it in stride rather well.He spent all day and most nights handling crazy and unexpected situations in the ER, the new was nothing new to him.

Back home, he went directly to hang up his tie, not wanting to wear the constricting clothes any longer than necessary.The body huddled in his closet cringed as he pawed through the hangars for one to put it on.Just killing off random parts of his body had proven to become less effective over time, so Peter had had to get creative.While causing pain was helpful to Peter, it did absolutely no good if Sylar could eventually escape.

So he had taken to poking about in Sylar’s brain, as darkly appropriate as that was, alternatively killing and over-activating sections he easily remembered from hours spent studying textbook diagrams.His last experiment had been to hypersensitize Sylar’s hearing, far beyond even what his ability had given.All the way to the point that the rattle of breath in his chest and his own heartbeat caused him to cringe in pain.A crippling bondage inescapable even if he could manage to drag himself away, much more effective than any kind of ropes, chains, or drugs.

But the hair Peter looked down on when he finished hanging up the tie wasn’t black, the quivering mass not his usual adversary.

“Hello Nathan, nice of you to drop by today.”

An attempted moan that could have been anything from “Pete” to “Help” greeted him in return.

Peter sat beside him, forsaking his need to get out of the suit for the moment.One hand ran along Nathan’s head and down his side.Peter watched as the tension washed out of Nathan’s body under the effect of revitalized skin and the bursts of dopamine and endorphins following Peter’s hand.As he relaxed, Peter drew Nathan’s head into his lap, stroking his hair gently.

Peter talked to him, even though the amount of pleasure thrumming through Nathan’s veins meant that he couldn’t think of moving, much less responding verbally. He told Nathan how his day had gone, what the nurses were gossiping about that they didn’t think he knew, how many days it had been since he last saw Nathan.

When there was nothing left to say, he just held his brother for the few, short minutes he could steal away from reality.

“Goodnight Nathan.”Peter leaned over to give Nathan another last kiss on the forehead and watched as his eyes snapped open in pain and only a single, pathetic mewl escaped before he was changing, dying in Peter’s arms again.Hair faded out to full black, bones shifted and stretched, blissful contentment fell into terrified apprehension.  Peter could swear he saw a smirk trying to hide somewhere in those eyes.

Peter’s hand reached for the place he had just kissed and yet further in with his power until he found the tactile part of Sylar’s brain.A brief encouragement accompanied by slicing death to the inhibitors was all it took for the look of fear to fade back into intense pain.Peter could only imagine what it must be like to be hyper-aware of every single square millimeter of skin with an intensity so strong that even the slightest brushing touch of any sort caused tremors and silent whines of pain.

“Goodnight.”He laid one more kiss on that forehead, savoring the involuntary wincing shudder of breath it caused, before getting up and reentering to his bedroom.He still had to get out of his annoying suit, after all.

  


End file.
